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yet we breathe

carrying like medals
tokens of being alive
food clothes
needs more and more
coming in and out of door
sleeping awake
through midlife blues
lost jobs
broken hearts
unkept vows
groping in the dark
dim-lit days
cathartic nights
masked social
torn in the upheaval
tearing within
making poems our ailment's remedy
our ink's flow
a placebo
the poet's might
a myth.

yet we breathe.
power to forget is beyond us.
for maria.
They gasped for breath in that dark dungeon cell
A hundred and sixty six men huddled in black hell
In that hole of Fort William eighteen by fourteen
The screaming souls realized next morn wouldn’t be seen.

Two tiny windows were all there was high up on the wall
Slowly passed that night of June hung in deadly lull
Water water they wailed their throats were desert dry
The summer heat poured in sweats as the tears of their cry.

Two women were among them they were the first to go
Suffocated by lack of air their breathing began to slow
Was dying Tom’s fiancée and he wrung his sweated shirt
If could revive his moisture’s drop save life of sweetheart.

One by one they collapsed amid the buzz of death’s din
Begging for a drop of water in despair drinking *****
The dead stood on their feet there wasn’t a space to fall
Survived only forty three men among them Holwell!

In the history it’s known as the tragedy of black hole
With many riddles still misty the Bengal Nawab’s role
Account of that summer night the ghastly horror’s tale
It’s now known was exaggerated by Commander Holwell.
On 20 June 1756, as per the account of Holwell, out of the 166 Britons imprisoned at the order of Bengal's Nawab Siraj-ud-Daulah 123 perished in a tiny dungeon cell at Fort William in the city of Calcutta among them soldiers and civilians. The incident became known as the Black Hole of Calcutta. He reported only 43 survived. However later history with further researches prove his account was grossly exaggerated.
Even where there is no darkness
we will create one.
Let’s be lovers again on the Belvedere
Hand in hand we would climb the stairs
Then fly to the past in our memories’ wings
To that timeless space where duelled Hastings!

Let’s be lovers again in that time spectral
On Victoria’s lawn her memorial
In the autumn’s white blue horizon
Under the bronzed face of Curzon!

Let’s be lovers again in our revived heart
In wind kissed skin on the Prinsep Ghat
See the sun go down on the west bank low
Coloring our eyes in the river’s glow!

Let’s be lovers again in the garden of Kyd
Where under the banyan love poems we read
Take a boat sail to the south upstream
Where the Hugli flows in the Bay’s dream!

Why can’t we be lovers like the olden time
Where landed Charnock in the humid clime
That grew to a city with three villages to start
And etched forever in two lovers’ hearts!
Belvedere House - Alipore, Calcutta, former palace for the Viceroy of India and the Governor General of Bengal, now houses the National Library.
Warren Hastings - first Governor General of Bengal (1772-85), he had wounded Sir Phillip Francis in a duel in the lawn of Belvedere.
Victoria Memorial - built by Lord Curzon, then Viceroy of India to the memory of Queen Victoria (1819-1901), built between 1906-1921.
Prinsep Ghat - built on the riverbank of Hugli in memory of James Prinsep,  English scholar, orientalist and antiquary.
Ghat - riverbank
Kyd - Colonel Robert Kyd (1746-93), a British army officer in India who founded the Botanical Garden, Calcutta in 1787. The garden has one of the oldest banyan trees in the world.
Hugli - Hugli river, tributary of the Ganges
Bay - Bay of Bengal
Charnock - Job Charnock (1630-92), administrator of the English East India Company, regarded as the founder of the city of Calcutta starting with three villages Sutanuti, Gobindapur and Kalikata.
p.s. I was born, grew up and loved in Calcutta now known as Kolkata, the City of Joy.
Not even a crow should know
what now in you I confide
turning his voice too low
he drew him closer to his side.

The listener strained his ears hard
nodded his head in assent
he wouldn't divulge one word
of the secret shared that moment.

Soon his face started showing crease
his belly bulged like balloon
he started feeling ill at ease
the burden was no boon.

He told his wife *what now I say
not be passed to another ear
mustn't see the light of day
keep to yourself only my dear.


The secret did her badly tease
made her silent morose
she couldn't breathe without release
must tell someone her close.

The secret spread like forest fire
were talking too many men
winds breathed it in the air
sun shone on it poured rain!
a small man dies somewhere
he doesn't make news
they are no news
herds of small men dying everyday.

big men only capture the headlines
big politicians big deceivers
no petty thieves or pickpockets
but swindlers of nations

you are awed by the headlines
the big bold letters
big disasters mishaps
genocide mass extinction

and may miss in one corner
a news of a man of no imprint
a small man's death in small print

an ill-paid half starved courier
his head crushed by a brick somewhere
not a thief nor a beggar
but looking forever
an address to deliver
going from door to door
with his back breaking loads
on alien bylanes and roads
where someone suspecting him a thief
broke his head with a brick


the small man in his death
made it to the news
only if you noticed it
from under big prints.

— The End —